


Rose Trémière

by MBloveshistory



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Lost Love, Not Beta Read, Stillbirth, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MBloveshistory/pseuds/MBloveshistory
Summary: A short story of what the war took away
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Rose Trémière

**Author's Note:**

> set in season 4 ish

Thomas had met Florence at school. She was the same age as John and her little sister, Emily was like Ada.  
They had been sweethearts before the war.  
Tommy scoffed when talked about the golden Edwardian summer of 1914. One last shining moment before the dark clouds of war had wrapped everything in its suffocating smoke.  
Small heath had always been grim and filled with smoke from the factory. There had been no innocence before the slaughter. Only a hard life before they were robbed of what was left of their humanity. But still, to him the memories of their last summer together was a shining beacon of what could have been if everything had been different. 

While at war, Tommy never wrote to her. He hadn't known what to write. There were no words to explain and the few he might have been able to conjure were better left unsaid.  
When he came back he had been in no state for a meaningful relationship, much less face her and explain the silence of the past four years, so he never did. By the time he had gotten himself back to a reasonable state, his life had held to many dangers he never wished to expose her to. 

Years passed and many things had changed but she was still living in Birmingham. she had worked her way up from seamstress to owning a shop in the nicer part of town. Her sister had emigrated to America with her husband.  
She still lived in her parents' house though they had long since passed. Because of that he would see her sometimes in the streets of small heath, going to the market or visiting John's children. She had been a close friend of Martha and had helped to take care of the children after she had passed. 

He ran into her on Watery lane.  
"Good morning, Florence"  
"Hi, Thomas, it's lovely to see you."  
"Who are the flowers for?"  
"For me" she said " you know how much I like flowers" she continued with a smile  
He couldn't help but feel guilty, remembering how he used to bring her flowers and now she had to buy her own. he would always get two bouquets, one for her mother that would go on the dining table and one for her that she would keep on her dresser in the room she shared with her sister. 

He could fill her house with flowers he thought. No, he could fill his house with flowers and bring her there, tell her to stay, beg her to stay. Surround her with flowers, always. No. He had made his choice and he had to live with it. 

________

"For me" she had lied easily. It was true in a way. They were there to fill her sorrow and fulfill a sort of duty.  
She had been startled at first, not expecting him but she had been happy to see him. He looked bulkier beneath his suit. No longer ready to snap and break in two or more pieces. Maybe he was doing better, no longer living on smoke and whiskey, eating some real food from time to time. She couldn't help the soft smile that stretched on her face. It was nice to see.

She walked the long to the cemetery, taking the time to reflect on the past years. Not necessarily thinking of what could have been. Many women never married after the war, so she faced less stigma than many of her elders. She was content with her life. She had her house, her garden, her own shop. She got to work daily with beautiful materials and turn them into intricate dresses. She had known love for and from a man and had had a taste of motherhood. 

She placed her bouquet of hollyhocks down on the grave stone. Only the simple marking Daughter adorned the graying stone. It still felt like yesterday. She was ever grateful to Polly for this. Being unmarried and her baby having never breathed she couldn't have hoped for a grave but Polly had taken care of everything. She had given her a place to grieve and later, to remember. Polly made things better.  
She was removing the moss and dead leaves from the stone when Tommy appeared behind her like a ghost for the second time in as many hours. 

"She was gone Tommy and, you didn't want me in your life. You already had enough people to grieve " she said softly, looking up at him, tears glistening in her eyes and a sorry smile on her lips. She wasn't feeling particularly emotional, only sad at their situation. Often she had wished that he had known and that would be have been there to share in her joy at the new life they had created, but soon enough she would remember that it would have been sorrow and not joy that they would have shared.

**Author's Note:**

> potential follow up, but no promises sorry
> 
> I know the verbs are a mess. apologies. this is the result of 4 am ramblings


End file.
